Seven Nation Army
by Tokio Rose
Summary: Sometimes the most carefree faces hide the biggest secrets. The team learns this valuable lesson when a string of murders shows that there is more to Anthony DiNozzo than meets the eye.
1. Prologue: Viva La Mentira

**A/n:I'll try and keep these to a minimum. Not many people read them much anyways. So, no, I am not abandoning any of my other stories. And yes, I have had this idea in my mind for a while. It was a dream that I had, so yeah. I was quite enamored with the idea. I'll be trying to update regularly. But you know how life goes…. I'll be including warnings at the beginning of the chapter. Possibly summaries. Oh, right, and I don't own the song title. But it is a cool one, ne?**

And there might be slash. Possibly. I haven't decided yet. So no pairings as of now. But if you might be offended by slash, you are warned. I'll warn every other chapter if I decide to go ahead with it.

**Warnings: **None for this chapter but a bit of swearing and mock violence

**Summary:** Sometimes the most carefree faces hide the biggest secrets. The team learns this valuable lesson when a string of murders shows that there is more to Anthony DiNozzo than meets the eye.

Note: Just plain italics means that it's Tony's thoughts.

**And I am looking for a Beta. Note me if you are interested or drop me a line. **

* * *

_**Seven Nation Army**_

_**By Tokio Rose**_

"_Prologue: Viva La __Mentira_"

Why, oh God, why had he been dragged here? Why had he let them say that it would be fun? Why, oh God, why was he getting dressed, pulling on his work out clothing? It wasn't like he couldn't come up with a lie. He had done it before. On the spur of the moment, he could pull anything out of his ass. Gibbs might catch it, might get a reaming even, but it would be better than… than this.

Green eyes, the color of freshly cut grass, scanned dutifully over his partner. His gaze flicked from behind the thickest lashes. They traversed deftly over the form of his partner- the lithe body, the gentle swell of her chest, the way that her legs were splayed in manner that spoke of ease on the mat; however, the most telling feature was the grin that was spreading across her strong features. The grin, it made him shiver with the way that it curled the corner of her lips, made her eyes sparkle. Count on Ziva to find humor and pleasure in his obvious discomfort.

"Are you ready, Tony?" She purred, accent thick and draping over the words. Tony barely registered it, sending her back a cocky, confident smirk.

"Baby, I was born ready," The expected response brought a snort from McGee who was sitting over on the side. He had his arms crossed over his chest, looking a bit less than pleased that he had been dragged down as well.

_Join the club_, Tony thought, blithely. He jerked his head to the side a bit, a subconscious reaction to the fierceness of the other gaze that was affixed to him. It didn't waver. Didn't move at all. It just stared at him, causing a shiver to march up and down his back. Gibbs had the ability to turn his world on a full axis tilt. He had, after all, been the one who had suggested that the team release some of the pent up energy in the gym. Though Tony had a sinking feeling that Gibbs just wanted to see him get his ass kicked. Why else would he have paired them up this way?

"No sucker punches," Tony called over the sound of the other agents in the gym, setting down the ground rules. Ziva, against her claims to the contrary, would fight dirty if it called for it. "No hitting below the belt," Tony rectified. "No rabbit punches," He talked out of the side of his mouth, taking on the sound of an old time announcer, green eyes lighting. Ziva rolled her eyes.

"Let's get this movie on the road," Ziva shifted from foot to foot, frowning a bit.

"Show, Ziva," Tony groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let's get this _show_ on the road," Brown eyes rolled, and Ziva settled back into a position that she seemed the most comfortable with. Her palm was face forward, fingers curling in on themselves and beckoning Tony forward.

"It does not matter," The Israeli woman quipped. "The fact stills stands that you are standing there like a little scared kitten. I am going to kick your butt. That was correct, yes?" Tony took up his position on the side, legs bending ever so slightly. Gibbs recognized the stance instantly. It was the one that DiNozzo used with him whenever they sparred. The man sighed in exasperation. Already his cocky senior agent was starting off on the wrong foot. Tony was good, but not that good. And quite frankly, with that stance, Ziva was better.

"Ladies first!" Tony called across the mat, bouncing on his feet back and forth. Like a jack in the box. He couldn't sit still. Whether it was nerves or something else, the man was shaking his hands to the side, rolling his neck. He looked all hyped and ready, but when Ziva raced forward, aiming a hard upper jab to his forehead, he barely had enough time to block. His large hands came up, forearms bracing in front of his face.

_I love my arms. I love my arms. I love my arms._ The agent repeated over and over and over again in his head as the smaller woman backed up, giving him time to throw a half-hearted jab toward her head. She smirked, her white teeth flashing against her lips. Not good. Oh shit. Really, really not good, Tony had about three seconds to let out a strangled "Oh hell-" before the small woman jerked him over her hip, using the momentum of his larger body and the power behind his punch to send him flying.

Listening intently, he barely had time to register a "roll, DiNozzo, ROLL!" before his head smacked against the ground, ricocheting of the tile that he had flown toward with a resounding crack that made his teeth chatter and his vision swim.

"_Get up," That voice. He knew that voice. It was English that they were speaking, but a familiar accent pervaded all the words. It was gentle like a lullaby, the accent, but the words were harsh. Not the normal level tone that Tony normally associated with that voice.. _

_Okay, DiNozzo, pull yourself together and find out where the hell you are. _

_Green eyes blinked lazily open, met with a brown face and dark, chocolate eyes that peered down at him through a prominent brown. The Tony let out a silent snarl._

"_Are you a man," Arabic. The person was speaking in an Arabic accent from what Tony could understand. "Or are you a woman. I did not hit you that hard. You need to get up. We still have work to do." Work, is that what this bastard called work? His gaze moved, peering out from behind a thick fringe of bangs. Oh, he needed a hair cut when they got back. Back home._

_What was home, anyways? Where were his men? They had to be somewhere in this placed. He looked about, noting the blank, blasé walls. Nothing that gave him any sort of information about his men's location. They weren't in the room, that much was obvious. That meant that they were somewhere else on the base. Somewhere having who-knows-what done to them. Rage, an uncommon feeling, boiled in the pit of his stomach and Tony glared, eyes harsh and dangerous. The person recoiled a bit, backing their head away ever so slightly from Tony's line of vision._

_The Middle Eastern person was smart. But not as smart as he was. Tony grinned to himself, shaking his arms a bit. They were weak, pinned down by the weight of the person against the floor. How long had he been here? Did it matter? The person was stupid. A Stupid idiot. Didn't they know how easy it was to get out of that?_

_"You are even more of an idiot," Tony replied, Arabic words spilling easily from his lips. "If you think that I am going to tell you anything. Stupid Bitch." He kicked his legs forward, using them as a sort of level to flip their positions, arm coming down with an uncanny speed to land right on the person's throat while his legs straddled the body beneath him. He could feel the power. The heady feeling of the heart beat beneath his hands. He could hear the harsh breathing of the air beneath him, feel the chest rise and fall. They were going to pay. They had to pay. They had to pay for what they were doing to his men. What they had done to his team._

"_Tony!" How did they know his name? The voice strangled and gasped, scrabbling at his forearm. Long nails, long feminine nails scraped against his bare forearm, digging in. The person beneath him was a female then. _

"_Where are they?" He hissed in Arabic. "Where are they at?"_

_"I don't know what you are talking about!" Worried now, the voice was dripping with something that he didn't think it possible of feeling. Fear. They were afraid. Why were they afraid? "Tony, you have to get off of me!"_

_Someone was touching his shoulder, pulling at him. He snarled a bit, pressing down a bit harder, green eyes nearly white and glassy and not Tony-like at all. _

"_Tony! You're hurting her, stop! You're going to kill her!" Another voice? An American one. His eyes flicked upwards, searching for the voice. There were arms on his shoulders, shaking him, hard. Hard enough that his head rocked back and forth, and his teeth snapped together. It happened hard enough that he barely had time to pull his tongue through his teeth and avoid it getting snapped off. _

"_DINOZZO!" A head slap, hard. An explosion of pain danced behind his eyelids. Nobody knew his name. They shouldn't know Anthony DiNozzo. Nobody knew Anthony DiNozzo. That meant that…_

Green eyes blinked, and Tony slowly swayed, allowing the arms that were pulling at him insistently to yank him back and off of the body beneath him. The person arched upwards, coughing and hacking.

"Breathe, David, Breathe," Gibbs whispered, rubbing the back of the Mossad woman. His blue gaze flicked over to his senior field agent who was blinking, staring about the hushed room. His lips were parted, breathing harshly in and out, and his pupils were contracted to mere pinpoints. His attention turned back to Ziva who had stopped her hacking and was breathing deeply in and out.

Well, it would be an understatement to say that he couldn't understand just what the hell had happened. One moment, DiNozzo was flying through the air, Ziva following after him and effectively pinning him, the next he was moving quicker and more fluidly than Gibbs had ever seen, pinning the woman beneath him and whispering things that Gibbs couldn't hear.

"What were you saying to me, Tony?" Ziva whispered, voice lightly and airy. It was scratchy too, and Gibbs winced. He looked over at his SIC that was panting lightly, a sheen of sweat whispering over his brow. He looked a bit like he was going to be sick and was holding his head in his hands.

"I don't know," Tony groaned. "I don't think that…"

"It was Arabic," Brown eyes were stronger now, and she was crawling forward, lightly taking his hands away from the back of his skull. They came back red and sticky, and her own fingers were coated with the substance. The copper tang filled her nostrils. So maybe she had been a bit harsh, it looked as if DiNozzo was concussed in the least. She wiped the sticky substance on her black sweat pants. "Where did you learn that?"

"No, I don't know…" Tony was mumbling now, looking down at his hands a bit oddly. "What do you mean? We were just sparring. I just…"

"Nearly killed David, now what the _hell_ happened, DiNozzo?" Gibbs stalked forward, bending down so that he was looking at Tony who was staring a bit confused outwards.

"I… I…" He swayed a bit, eyes blinking back and forth. "I don't feel so good, Boss." Gibbs swore, taking a quick, cursory glance of the back of Tony's head. His fingers quested over the short, soft locks, coming back with the sticky red of blood.

"Dammit," Gibbs hissed, motioning for McGee who hurried forward, regarding Tony with a bit of a scared look in his eyes. "Oh hell, McGee, take him down to Ducky. See if he can sort out what's wrong." McGee didn't seem to hear. Gibbs growled, looking up. "Any moment, McGee. He's obviously not going to be doing much but puking on my shoes if you don't get a move on it."

That seemed to snap the younger male out of it at any rate.

"On it Boss," Tim muttered, bending down and lightly threading his arm around Tony's chest. The man was heavy, but not obnoxiously so. And he had a firm presence. Tim lifted a bit. "Come on, Tony, you're going to have to help me out a bit here." Tony mumbled an apology, feet not cooperating for a moment before he finally got a bearing about him and leaned heavily upon the smaller male.

"Don't think that this means we're friends, Probie," Tony groaned, voice slurring ever so slightly. Tim rolled his eyes.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Tony. Now come on, or do you want me to carry you all the way down there?" Dragging the semi-coherent Agent DiNozzo along, Tim stopped to give a glance to Gibbs who waved him on and then turned to face Ziva.

A troubled look spread across her features and she was rubbing her neck absently. Livid bruises spread over golden flesh, marring the almost perfect column of her throat. She didn't seem upset, on the contrary, she seemed quite intrigued. Already, Gibbs could see the gears turning in her head.

"He was speaking Arabic. Quite fluently," She rasped.

"DiNozzo doesn't know Arabic. He doesn't even know any other languages that I can think of besides Spanish and a bit of Italian," Gibbs shook his head. "I would know if he did. Check his dossier," He shrugged. "Maybe you were mistaken. "

"I am not mistaken," Ziva hissed, indignantly. "He first called me an idiot, then said that he wasn't going to tell me anything, then asked where 'they' were," Her thoughtful gaze turned to Gibbs. "If I am not mistaken, it seems as if he has been in a similar situation before."

"DiNozzo has been in plenty of bad situations, David," Gibbs protested, "Don't put too much stock in it."

"You know as well as I do that Anthony DiNozzo has not been entirely honest with us. With you," She stood, rubbing off her butt and rolling her neck a bit. "And it would be best if you looked into it."

"And who is the boss here? When I want your opinion on how to run my team, I'll ask it." Gibbs hissed, low and deadly. Ziva shrugged, turning and walking toward the showers. Part of him was upset that Ziva would suggest anything of the sort about Tony. While the other half, the more prominent half, couldn't help but admit that she was right.

* * *

Well there we go. A) I don't speak Arabic, so no translations. B) If you are confused, don't worry, this is just the prologue. It'll get less confusing as things go along. And I am quite sorry for any mistakes that are in here. Please don't flame. That would be nice.


	2. Step One, You Say We Need to Talk

**A/N: **Wow, this is going to be short and sweet. just wanted to say… THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT! It made me grin to read all my new reviews. I am so happy. You guys have no idea. I've been doing a lot of research lately (google is love), so I hope that most information is as accurate as my non-doctor brain can make it.

**Warnings:** Swearing, violence. There may be slash later chapters. Still haven't decided. It's up in the air based on the reviews. :/ Though, it definitely would not be the main backbone of the story. Just a little thing to spice it up. Oh, and this is minorly AU, forgot to mention that.

**Still looking for a beta. So until I find one, please ignore all spelling/grammar mistakes. **

*Giggles* And Gaby, I can't be certain either about McGee's size. But how do you know I was talking about his build! Just kidding.

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_**Seven Nation Army**_

_**By Tokio Rose**_

"_Chapter One: Step One, You Say We Need to Talk"_

Dr. Donald Mallard knew that today was not going to be a good day. It was just this feeling that he got often enough, and it had never steered him wrong yet. Whether it meant that they were going to be a particularly grueling case, or Mr. Palmer was going to accidently stab himself with a sharpened scalpel, again, it didn't matter. The bad feeling was the same. It came and went with varying frequency that Ducky had learned to associate with the holidays. Everything went wrong at the holidays, no matter what.

Today wasn't a holiday. It was the middle of January. Therefore, the bad feeling shouldn't have been happening for another two weeks. So when Dr. Donald Mallard woke up that morning, feeling the familiar twinge of discomfort in the spot just below his heart, he knew that it was going to be one hell of a day. Because only "one hell of a bad day" would happen around the general vicinity of no respectful holiday.

"Well, what happened here?" He whispered, walking into the room and seeing one Anthony DiNozzo sitting on the exam table. His strong back was arched forward, head rolling against outstretched hands that were shaking. His eyes were closed, startlingly green irises hidden behind wan eyelids, and small tremors ran through his body. A hand rested gently against his scalp, holding white gauze against the back of a chestnut topped head.

"Ziva," Two voices chorused together. Tony's, whose voice was muffled by his hands, and McGee's whose was clear and a bit wobbly.

"Ah," Ducky made an attempt at a noise of sympathy. There had been more than one occasion that both men had found their way to the morgue, more often than not on the commands of Gibbs. He had a feeling that if it wasn't very bad, DiNozzo would be sitting upstairs at his desk, flirting with the new intern or reading over cold case files. He doffed his hat, setting it on the rung and pulled on a lab coat.

"I mean, he hit his head when he fell," McGee began. Tony lightly jerked his hand up, grabbing the gauze from the other male's hand and batting Tim's hand away.

"I can talk for myself, McGeek," His eyes glared upwards, straightening his posture just the smallest amount. He squared broad shoulders, looking Ducky straight in the eye. The M.E. almost felt dizzy for Tony. Green eyes stared forward, not quite focusing on anything in particular. He closed his eyes a bit. "I hit my head when she tossed me across the room."

"Oh dear," And that would explain why Gibbs had sent them down here. Tony DiNozzo was a trouble magnet on the best of days. A concussion could spell certain doom for whatever the vivacious brunette might turn his attention towards. Tony would be no good to anyone if he couldn't think straight, or in this case, see straight. "Look towards me, Anthony." Ducky snapped his fingers, attempting to draw the brunette's attention away from the wall.

"I am," Tony hissed, clenching white teeth together and releasing.

"Irritable too," Ducky commented to nobody in particular. "Lean forward, dear boy. Let's take a look." Oddly enough, Tony leaned forward, resting his head against his hands again like holding it up had been too much effort. Ducky cast a weary glance over to McGee who was staring at Tony like he was going to leap off the table and proceed to give them all a strip tease. "Where did he hit his head?"

That seemed to snap Tim out of it, at any rate. He blinked a bit, staring at Tony then at Ducky.

"Uhh… ummm," He swallowed thickly, ignoring the small, pitiful glare that Tony sent his way. "Side of his head. He flew across the mat, and then he twisted as he fell, cracked his head, right about there and there," he pointed to the small points of impact on his head, showing where the skin had split rather considerably. Ducky winced in sympathy.

"I can tell him where it hurts, thanks," Tony groused, but didn't make a move to jerk away from the incessant fingers. He waited, patiently, sitting there with green eyes alternating between staring off in space and blinking back to the present, like he was lost somewhere.

"How does it feel?" Tim asked after a moment, trying to help. He would be the first to admit that he was wary of Tony. That he was _scared_ of Tony. Ziva had taken down men three times her size. She was an assassin for God's sake, and Tony had flipped and pinned her like it was child's play. Like he had been doing it for all his life.

And if Tony could do that to Ziva, imagine what he could do to Tim.

McGee shuddered a bit.

"Like I have a little fire imp digging around with a spoon of power," Tony grimaced. Well maybe he wasn't that affected if he was making cracks about online gaming. "How do you think it feels, McGeek?"

"Definitely concussed," Ducky decided, jumping in before there could be anymore barbs exchange. "Follow the finger, if you please."

"Stop moving it so I can get a good fix," Tony whispered. Ducky exchanged a worry glance with Tim, brow wrinkling in confusion.

"I think that answers my question," Ducky looked at the non-moving finger then sighed. Of all the team casualties that he had to fix, DiNozzo had to be the worst of them. He hated down time. Hated being away from the job. More than that, he hated not being in the loop when it came to cases or important things. Missing out the recommended work days was not going to make for a happy Tony. "Okay, Anthony," He grabbed the chiseled features, holding them still. "Look into the light."

He released the man's cheeks, grabbing a pen light. The pupils didn't dialate, of course, and Tony let out a low moan.

"Just as I thought," Ducky sighed. "Timothy," He looked at McGee who was staring with something akin to awe on his features. It was a little well-known fact that Tony did not submit to poking and prodding well, which was unfortunate as he was the one that got sent to the hospital most. "It seems that young Anthony has quite the concussion. I believe that it would be best if he is taken to Bethesda for observation for at least the night."

"Noo, no hospitals," Tony breathed, staring out blankly at the wall. He blinked a few times, then a few times more and felt the violent rolling of his stomach. He blinked again, settling back against the cold stainless of the table. "Maybe, okay."

Ducky gave a sharp nod.

"Then I suppose that it would be best if Jethro takes young Anthony to Bethesda?" McGee gave a sharp nod, thankfulness making his features light up. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. And Ducky could feel it. Just like that feeling he had gotten this morning over his corn flakes. "Timothy, if you don't mind, I would like to have a word with you about the tests that you had run a few days ago."

"What, Probalicious, getting your weekly anal probe?" Tony gave a small grin from the table and blue eyes glanced over, withering in their intensity.

"Haha, very funny, Tony," Looking up at Ducky, he nodded once, following the M.E. through the sliding doors, effectively leaving Tony sprawled against the table.

"Now what happened," Ducky began, blue eye serious and peering out from his glasses with much more intellect and empathy than any one person was allowed to have. "To make you flinch away from Dear Anthony as if he had the plague again?"

The again was added to lighten the mood. It didn't help at all, but McGee appreciated it all the same. Ducky had the tendency to try and lighten the mood, and really, if anything needed lightened, it was the fear that had settled like a small, cool serpent in his stomach. The younger man attempted a grin.

"He attacked Ziva."

Whatever Ducky had been prepared for, that had not been it. He stood there, silent for a moment, hands crossed over his chest and a frown marring his face. His wrinkles seemed a bit more severe with that grave of a look upon his face. _Gibbs would be proud_. McGee though, blithely.

"That is quite a serious accusation that you are proposing, dear boy," The seriousness of his voice conveyed that. McGee took in a breath, letting it out to soothe his nerves then began again.

"I mean, it wasn't him. Not Tony. It was someone else. Tony doesn't even remember everything that happens. He was there, one minute, then the next, he wasn't. It was like watching some sort of person take over. The weirdest thing was that he was speaking in some language. I don't know what it was, but he was. And he was moving faster than I have ever seen him move before. Like… Oh God, can't believe I'm going to say this, A terminator or something."

"Seems like I have been wearing off on you, Probie," Tim let out a shudder, turning to the side. Tony was standing, leaning heavily against the door. His eyes were stormy, despite being dazed, and he was swaying. He made a move to stand, and then thought better against it, fingers digging into the metal of the frame.

"You need to sit down," Ducky began, and McGee made a move to help him. The man jerked away, sliding down against the door.

"I didn't attack her," Tony stated, surely, ignoring all inquiries about his health. He waved them off. "I don't know Arabic. And there is no way in Hell that I could pin Ziva David, _Mossad_ _assassin_, to the ground."

"But you did," McGee stated, gently, bending down. He swallowed thickly. "I wouldn't lie about this, really, Tony."

"But… but…"

"Perhaps you had better get a MRI when you are there," Ducky informed, softly. He felt for the agent, really, he did. There were a handful of times that Tony had not been in charge of his own fate. He had been accused of murder, left out of the loop on more than one occasion, and seemingly abandoned when he needed help the most. It was only natural that he felt a bit helpless and maybe peeved when faced with the possibility that another area of his life was beyond his control. "Why there once was this story published in a book I read about displaced languages and accents. Why there was once this woman who was from England and hit her head one day. Miraculously she had a German…" McGee cleared his throat for a moment. Ducky stopped, blinking once, then returned to the train of thought. "Perhaps what you are facing is merely some freak accident from being bonked on the head. Foreign languages are something, after all, you are accustomed with."

Tony winced at the memories. Israel and Ari and Ziva and Jeanne and a whole hell of a lot that was better left somewhere back in his mind, away from conscious thought.

"Yeah," He whispered, looking up at the medical examiner. "Maybe you are right."

"Yes, well," Ducky looked at Tony with a critical eye. "Do you want our help, or are you going to be a good agent and go back in that room before I have to call Gibbs down here?"

Tony made a face, but stood on unsteady legs, tottering toward the room. He stopped for a moment then turned back around, barely able to keep his balance from the spinning.

"I won't attack you, McGee," Tony tried, a bit unsuccessfully as he looked like he was about ready to chuck again. "I mean, I like you better than Ziva. I think."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Tony waved a bit, flopping his fist about before he disappeared back into the morgue. Tim turned for a moment, face a bit pale. "Do you really think that all that is wrong with Tony is a case of misplaced accents or whatever?"

Ducky shook his head, slowly.

"No," He whispered, looking down at his hands for a moment. "No, I believe that there is something deeper than we all can fathom that is going on in the mind of that boy. There is no way that he could have subconsciously stored that language in the recesses of his mind. No, Anthony DiNozzo has experience if what little you told me is correct. Arabic? I believe he said Arabic," to himself, "there is no possible way that he could have picked up Arabic like that… there…"

"So you are saying that he knew the language before he came here?" There was no time that Tony could have learned it. Maybe when he had been sick with the plague, or any other various times he had been given off… but then Tony never took days off.

"I am say that Tony DiNozzo has had training beyond NCIS, and even the famous Leroy Jethro Gibbs didn't find it."

* * *

They were talking about him. He didn't know why. Didn't know how he knew, but he could see the furtive glances that they were sending him through the glass. He could practically hear the worried tone in McGee's voice. Even through the hazy fog that had settled over him, wrapping his ears and vision in cotton. Something was _wrong_. He just couldn't put his finger on it yet. But he would, and when he did, he was going to fix it so they could avoid this whole mess all over again.

Only his mind didn't want to quite grasp onto things right now. Thoughts were as illusive as trying to catch rain drops in your hands. They slipped through his clutches and weren't tangible. He couldn't think straight. And for all his sarcasm, it really did feel like there was a killer gnome attempting to scoop out his brains with a spork.

"Oh God," Tony whispered, gingerly pressing his head to the table. The blood was sticky and his hair caught to the small gauze pillow that had miraculously appeared. Tony wasn't one to question such things. After all the concussions that he had had, he was just waiting for Kate to show up in a string bikini and start dancing in a conga line. "Oh, Goood," he repeated again, letting out a small breath.

_There was cold steel against his wrists. He could feel it, cutting, biting. It hurt. And he was cold, so very cold. It doused him and wrapped about him like a comforting friend. _

Tony shivered, pressing his lips together and screwing his eyes shut. What was this? Again? He could vaguely feel the sense of going under, being pulled this way and that like a rag doll.

"_It's about time that you awoke," the voice purred. Feminine, of course. It washed over him, thick words licking around his senses. It was Russian, this time he was sure. "We were beginning to think when you were going to wake up and grace us with your presence, Mr. Holliday."_

_Shit, how did he get into these situations? How the bloody hell did he manage to get captured every fucking time? He was the leader for Christ's sake. Oh, right. Leader meant bait. And he could take it. He always could take it. He groaned, jerking lightly on the bindings and looking upwards, green eyes defiant and dangerous. His lips were crusted with blood, and split. He reveled in the taste of copper. It washed over his taste bud and he grinned upwards, summoning as much saliva as he could and spitting in that pretty face. _

"_Now what are you going to do? We have your information," She waved a floppy disk about his face. She seemed a bit disturbed by the spittle and the manic grin. But she kept going, stilettos making a cadence of clicks upon the tiled floor. "Very clever of you, attempting to sneak in and steal it without our noticing. But we… Russians, you understand me, yes?" Tony nodded, once, "We are a very smart bunch, despite everything that you stupid American's think of us. How old are you, anyways?" _

"_Twenty-one," Tony answered, honestly._

"_Just a boy," The woman sighed, shaking her head. "So sad that you are going to be left here to rot. You know that you could fix this. All you have to do is tell me who sent you. Tell me what you are doing here, and I can make it all go away," She leaned forward, ghosting cool breath against his face. It smelled of rose petals and cinnamon, a heady scent. Tony could have seen himself kissing her; though, he couldn't quite remember if he had or not. It was a blur of days, passing by quickly and then fading into the next. "It is a sad thing that you are not going to see your wedding day. You are not married, that is correct, yes?"  
_

"_Right," Tony intoned, gruffly. Russian had not always been his strong point. He was passable. Even could be good when he got going. He stared at her, Green eyes meeting the palest blue. Her hair was silver, falling lightly into her face. But the appearance was young. Most likely the hair was the result of a stylist. Tony grimaced. _

_Her long fingers trailed over his brow, and she reached forward, brushing her full lips with his. _

_"I suppose it would be cliché to say goodbye, wouldn't it?" She whispered, huskily. "After all, we did have a beautiful thing. You might not think it, but I do. Oh yes, I really, really do," She nuzzled his neck. "Your Russian is quite beautiful, even for an American. It is most unfortunate that you tried to double cross my government. You are quite the interesting toy. Not one scream from those pretty, pretty lips." She backed away, nodding to one of the men. "Let's see if we can change that." She leaned forward, brushing his lips with her fingers. "It is a pity, really. Never send a boy to do a man's job. If you weren't so important, I might send you back to your government without your silver tongue in your mouth. Quite poetic." She licked her full lips, tongue resting against the shell of his ear. "__Dasvidania_, _Mr. Holliday. It has been… a pleasure."_

_The man walked forward, something in his hands. It looked like brass knuckles and something else. Tony felt the thrill of a plan being pulled off as the man brought his fist down, connecting with the side of his head. He let out a small laugh. Just a small one. Then another. Then another, until they were falling like rain. Like tears. Oh God, stop! You'll make me pee my pants!_

_"Why are you laughing? Huh? Tony?"_

_The laughter stopped for a moment._

_Tony. Tony frowned. Who was…_

"_Yeah, that's right. Tony. Come on, come back. You have to wake up! DiNozzo! DiNozzo!"_

"_How the hell do you know my name?" He whispered. Nobody knew Tony DiNozzo. He was normal. He wasn't who he was. Not now, anyways. _

_"What the hell kind of question is that? I'm your fucking boss!"_

_Boss?_

Green eyes opened slightly, peering upwards at the face of Gibbs, peering over him. Wrinkles crinkled his brow, making him look older than he actually was. Tony blinked, looking about, the dizzy feeling worse than when he had all but passed out.

"Where is the Russian chick that took all her lines out of a bad porno?" Tony groaned. Gibbs was frowning again, and his face disappeared for a moment. A sense of discomfort swallowed him, and then he was sitting up, resting his face against Gibbs' shoulder.

"Russian chick? DiNozzo, don't make me hit you," Though his blue eyes were staring, staring at him with a different sort of intensity, but they were the same color as that woman's. And his hair was the same silver. Tony frowned. Maybe it was just a nightmare. Yes, most definitely a nightmare if Gibbs was staring as the Russian Bond girl.

"No, no hitting," DiNozzo whispered, rolling his face against the smell of cotton and sawdust. "Please, my head is…"

"What did you see?" The gruff voice, uncommonly soft stopped him. "What the hell did you see? What is going on?"

Gibbs hated being out of the loop almost as much as he did. Tony whimpered, the most unmanly sound that he had ever heard pass his lips. The memory was already fading, going someplace dark that he couldn't follow. The girl's voice wasn't vivid anymore, it was flat and hollow sounding. The feel of the cuffs on his wrist was nothing more than a passing flicker. And he couldn't even feel the words that he knew that he had been speaking come to him. They had been flowing, twittering even just a few seconds earlier.

What the hell was wrong with him?

"I can't… There was this girl. She was telling me that I was going to die. That I had made a mistake in betraying her," It was starting to sound like some sort of cheesy movie. That was it then. He looked upwards, hopefully. Gibbs met his gaze, though there was a bit of worry in those stormy eyes. Tony felt like letting out a triumphant whoop.

"You've been watching too many action flicks, DiNozzo," He stated, gruffly, but didn't let go or push the man back against the bed. "Ducky said that we are going to take you to get checked out. Anything that you want to tell me before we head over there?"

There was. Tony knew that there was. Somewhere. If he could just find it. Whatever it was. Maybe then this whole mess would make so much more sense. Maybe then he could try and get to the bottom of why now. Why Ziva. Why Russian. And why the hell Gibbs.

"Can't think of anything, Boss," And that was the truth. The honest to goodness truth. He really couldn't think of anything. Annoyance was a brief flare before he pushed it down, away, and to be processed later.

Gibbs was silent.

"Stop that," Tony barely caught it. He glance at Gibbs, mouth falling open somewhat.

"Excuse me?"

"I said stop that. You aren't acting like Tony," Of course he was, wasn't he? He had complained. He had acted like he always did. Ah, that was it. He was acting. Acting like he was expected to act. He settled backwards, taken aback by the intensity of the stare. Since when had Gibbs started to notice these things? Since when had Tim been afraid of him? And since when he had dreamed about being stuck in some body that wasn't his? Since when had he ever been "Not Tony" but someone else?

And since when had everyone started to care?

_Brown eyes stared up at him, tenderly. They were smiling ever so slightly, and smooth hands were brushing away his brow. There were whispers around him, swimming about his ears. She was older than he was. Someone he knew from a passed life. A life that he couldn't really focus on._

_"We love you, Chief. Don't you ever forget that," The woman grinned, her voice was grinning. She was speaking with a soft Spanish accent. "All of us. And no matter what you go through, no matter who you are, we will always be there for you. We take care of our own. We're worse than Marines that way."_

A hand waved before his visions. Tony started, visibly.

"You spaced, DiNozzo," Gibbs informed, touching the side of his head. Not a real head slap, but the concern was duly noted.

"Sorry about that boss."

"Do you remember what it was about this time?"

Tony grinned. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah," He affirmed. "What would a Marine do? I mean, how much to Marines care for their brother's?" Gibbs was silent. He tended to do that when he was thinking. And Tony knew the answer. He had seen Gibbs get protective of all of them on more than one occasion. He had been the center of that concern at a few points in his career of knowing the older male.

Right now, he was the center of the concern again.

"They would do just what I am doing now and trying to take care of their own. They would do anything in their power to make sure that they were safe. That they were cared for. That they were never left behind."

"So saying that you are cared for stronger than the Marines, that's saying something then?"

"It's saying, DiNozzo, that if someone cares for you more than a Marine, that you have one hell of a relationship," Gibbs studied him critically. "You saying that you got someone that cares for you that much?"

"I don't know," Tony answered. But he did. Oh, yes, he did. There was someone out there that loved him almost as much as he loved this team. There was someone who knew him so well that they would answer these questions. He could already see part of her face in his head. Gibbs made a noise that sounded suspiciously like he didn't agree or believe him, but was willing to let him slide, just this once.

"Come on, DiNozzo, enough psychobabble, let's get you up to the…"

"There's a new case," The new voice caused them both to jump a bit. Ziva walked forward, casting a wary glance at Tony who eyed her a bit apologetically. She cast her wide, brown eyes that made Tony a bit queasy toward Gibbs then back to Tony. "Dead Marine. The local law enforcement found her. She was quite… disgustingly displayed." Ziva nodded, once. "I am glad to see that you are not entirely out of the sprint yet.

"Race," Tony grinned, just a bit. "Out of the race yet." She nodded, once, full lips parting but seemed to remember that they weren't really trusting each other. That Tony had almost killed her and had yet to offer an explanation why.

"We are just awaiting your command, Gibbs," Gibbs turned. Tony glanced up.

"Palmer can take me," He informed. "Go, they need you. Don't want Probie screwing everything up," His cheek twitched, but he didn't speak after that. Gibbs gave a stiff nod.

"You call me if anything comes up," He stated, touching Tony's shoulder. "And I mean it."

"I know you do," Tony whispered, waving his hand. "I wish that I have answers, I really do. And I'm sor-."

Gibbs cut him off with a gruff squeeze.

"Don't be sorry, DiNozzo. Nothing you can do about it," And then when blue eyes met Green, Tony knew that there wasn't. That Gibbs understood. Because Gibbs had been there too, been to the place where you didn't know who you were anymore. And that if there was anyone that Tony could rely on, it would be Gibbs. So when the weight of it finally fell on him, and it all started to settle, there would be Gibbs. Gibbs who cared about him with probably more intensity than a Marine. And that was a lot. He smiled at the older man, and Gibbs seemed satisfied by the dazed, yet Tony, smile.

"I will keep Tim in shape," Ziva informed, walking forward and giving Tony a long stare. He blinked. "And don't think that we will not talk when you are less inclined to fits of rage," She stated, surely. "I still have questions."

"Don't we all," Tony whispered. "Don't we all."

* * *

Okaaay, Second chapter done. Third chapter ready and rearing to go next week. Maybe sooner. But I got a new job… soooo….

Okay, and the whole concussion thing… I've had multiple concussions before. They are not fun. So I am just kind of going on my own personal experience here. They really do suck, and you really can have coherent conversations while still feeling like you are about ready to fall over with small people in your head. Though I tried to make him a bit more random.

As for personality changes and whatnot. I was told that mine shifted when I first got whacked in the head.

Anyways, please forgive my personal ignorance, and just review. I do appreciate it!


	3. To Save You from Your Old Ways

**A/n: **Okay, so asides from doing my job, things are going great with me. I haven't had as much free time as I would like, but hey, that is life, right? Not that you really care. Some of the ideas are interesting. Very interesting. It's fun to read some of them. Thank you for all your support.

**Warning: **Violence, very strong language, and rape (not graphic, just mentioned)

_And I am saying that Tony is about thirty-sevenish in this based upon him being 32 in the first season. _

_And I have found a wonderful beta. Thank you very much Kyuubiluvr68!_

**Okay, final note.... I jacked up some chapter stuff. So if you reviewed and it's gone. Sorry. :(. Stupid computer. Well, more stupid me for touching things and not looking when I cliked "yes." I'm stupid like that. **

**

* * *

**

_**Seven Nation Army**_

_**By Tokio Rose**_

"_Chapter Two: To Save You from Your Old Ways"_

"About thirty-five years old," Ziva stated. Something was in her eyes. It was remorse, Gibbs supposed. A kinship that he really couldn't feel with female victims that Ziva could feel. Kate could feel it too, especially when they put up a fight like this one did. Her face was a mottled purple color, and there was a slashed across her throat, military style. "Corporal Mellissa Sandoval." The Israeli woman flipped through the wallet that had been left in plain view. Too easy, of course. Gibbs gut gave an uncomfortable roll that wasn't bad. It just meant that the case was going to be long, grueling, and hard. "Thirty-nine." Had Tony been there, he might have said something about "one hell of an aging cream."

She handed over the small wallet, inconspicuous and simplistic. From what they could tell of her lack of makeup and the no-nonsense shoes on her feet, the wallet was much like the woman herself. Gibbs let out a soft growl, shifting the tarp that they had thrown over her body back. Her livid face stared upwards, eyes defiant in their glassy openness.

Yes, most definitely a fighter.

She probably got a piece of the S.O.B that had done this to her. Gibbs let a fleeting smile cross his face just because he probably would have liked the woman had she been alive.

"Did you get a sketch of her back?" Ziva gave a curt nod, retuning the sketch pad to Gibbs hands. He flipped through it, taking in a few looks of the graphite drawings. There was an empty patch just around her shoulder blades, oddly symmetrical and roughly the same size, flanking a sword tattooed just down her spine. It was what Abby would have called a "fine piece of work" if she had been here to see it in first person. Though, Abby would probably say that the tattoo was fine, especially when she saw the picture that they took for identification. But more important than the tattoo was the blatant attempt to deface the writing that was barely visible on her back.

"Someone was trying to send a message," Ziva stated, pursing her lips. Her eyes narrowed down at the pictures over Gibbs' shoulder. "Else they would not have gone to such trouble."

"Have McGee run a search on her when he gets back. I want to know every person that Corporal Sandoval could have been in contact with that would hold a grudge. Even the damn paper…"

"BOSS!"

The voice wasn't scared. Though it was hasty. It carried through the alley from the general vicinity of where Gibbs had sent McGee not moments earlier to look about. They had been called to Annapolis when the local LEOs had found her mangled corpse spread across the rat-infested pavement.

Ziva gave him a look that he returned, and they both drew their guns, a force of habit. Gibbs nodded, once, moving toward the opposite end of the rank, rotting alley, and Ziva took the other as they inched their way to the half-open bedroom door.

"You might really want to see this," McGee hummed. His voice wavered a bit, like he didn't know what to do about the situation that he found himself in. Glancing around the bricked corner, Gibbs nodded once and Ziva slipped through the small opening between garbage bags, dumpsters, and the edge of the building. She let out an exasperated sigh that caught.

"You do need to see this," She reiterated for Gibbs' sake. The elder male straightened, holstering his gun and choosing the most direct path toward the back wall that the two agents were staring at. If Ziva said that he wanted to see it, he probably did. And since both of his agents were telling him that whatever was in the small alcove was of vital importance, it probably was.

The man huffed, a critical eye dancing over the rank enclosure. He slipped his hands in his pocket, gaze shifting to the side where his agents were intently peering. Even without his glasses, he could see the writing, bold and red and stinking if the flies buzzing about were anything.

"'Come out. Come out. Just like old times, let's play'?" Confusion peppered his voice, and that feeling in his gut was back. The feeling that was never to be ignored. Gibbs let loose a low growl, nodding to Ziva who held up the camera and took a few pictures, the sound of a clicking lens filling the room.

"Definitely was trying to send a message."

"You think?" His voice growled with sarcasm. Gibbs removed his hands from his pockets, slipping into his jacket and pulling out latex. Gripping them tightly, he expelled a tight breath and slipped into the latex. He motioned vaguely with a hand, and McGee slipped a vial into his fingers. Growling his thanks, Gibbs took the offered swab as well, swishing it about the bloody letters glowing against the sandy limestone of the wall. He slipped the swab and vial back into the bag, handing it to McGee.

"On it," McGee stated, without having to be told much of anything. The younger agent pulled a marker from his backpack, writing down in his cramped writing on the bag as Gibbs continued his predatory pace around the room.

"Where's my M.E.?"

"Right here, Jethro," Ducky grumbled, walking into the alley when he hadn't found traces of the NCIS agents, the lack of police officers that had already been sent on their way, and a body. "Mr. Palmer got us lost," A pause, "Again."

Gibbs stopped his pacing for a moment, turning to look at Jimmy. The curly headed man shifted from foot to foot, obviously disconcerted with the icy gaze pinned to him. He gave a sheepish smile, peering up from his wire-rimmed glasses.

"It wasn't my fault?" Gibbs hummed something then turned back to the wall. Then, quickly and sharply, the gaze was back on the young assistant. Jimmy faltered for a moment.

"Okay, well maybe it was. I mean I did give him the map and we do know how horrible…"

"Where is DiNozzo?" Gibbs hissed, stopping the rambling before it really got going. "You were supposed to be taking him to the hospital." DiNozzo had said that he was going to get Jimmy to take him to Bethesda. Gibbs wasn't that far gone, really. He was getting on in years, but he distinctly remembered having that conversation with his second. Jimmy's attempt at a smile faltered.

"I was?" He looked to Ducky who gave Gibbs a long hard stare from behind his glasses. The M.E. let out a low groan, looking up at the senior agent whose fists had shook and eyebrow had twitched in annoyance.

"Yes, yes Palmer, you were," Gibbs hissed, crossing his arms over his chest. Ducky hadn't been there. Dammit. Ducky hadn't been there to send DiNozzo on his way, which was why Palmer was standing here and gaping like a fish out of water instead of driving very, _very_ carefully toward the hospital, DiNozzo in tow. And if Ducky hadn't heard, it meant that Ducky hadn't told Palmer; therefore, it was only safe to assume that there was no way in hell that DiNozzo had told Palmer either.

Well hell.

"But nobody said anything about…" Gibbs groaned. Not groaned. Gibbs didn't groan. He rubbed his forehead, fingers kneading the flesh there and letting out a low, slow breath and rumble.

"I know that nobody said anything about it**.**" He tried to be pleasant, but the sketching and shooting in the alley had stopped. His teeth clenched together and he let out another controlled breath. "So where the hell is DiNozzo then?"

"Last time that I left him, he was in the lab, waiting for someone to come and take him to the hospital**.**" But they both knew that Tony was probably long gone by now. Either he was sitting at his desk, attempting to do a report, or he had gone to hide someplace in the vast Navy Yard. Tony, despite being stubborn, wouldn't attempt to drive, not when he couldn't see straight. He would be in Abby's lab, more than likely, hiding out on her futon while she tried to talk him into going to the hospital.

Gibbs growled.

"Well, let's get this wrapped up so we can go and find him," He wasn't going to leave the body here for the local law enforcement officers to muck up. They had done a good enough job of keeping the crime scene pure, but Gibbs didn't want to risk it. They had seemed… disgruntled when he had sent them on their way.

"Well I examined the body," Ducky admitted, motioning for Gibbs to follow. He yanked gently at the liver probe. "Estimated time of death, not more than seven hours ago," He winced. The alley was a somewhat public place as it was near the edge of a dumpster to a popular bistro. "It seems that the cause of death was the slice to her neck," His pinky inched forward, following the course of the line. "Now I am sure that you saw that…"

"Marine style. I know."

"The attacker was left handed," Which narrowed down the list significantly as far as Ducky was concerned. "The wounds on the rest of her body were made posthumously. See," He turned her over, revealing the wounds. "Though I cannot be certain about the nature of the assault, I would not…" He swallowed. "Rule out rape."

Rape. Oh God. He hated rape cases.

"Thanks, Duck," Gibbs gave a nod, and Palmer came forward, pushing the gunnery.

"I really am sorry, Agent Gibbs," The young man stated, looking up through thick curls. He was shuffling again, pushing the glasses back against his nose in a nervous habit that Gibbs caught up on a few times. The senior agent let it go.

"No need to apologize," He gruffly threw over his shoulder as he walked toward the car, Ziva and McGee close on his heels. They slipped wordlessly into the black car, and Gibbs stopped for a moment, taking a final look as Palmer and Ducky with the help of a few of the other agents who had come along for the case, helped them pull the body onto the black gunnery and zip a bag over her face. "Though DiNozzo is going to have to do a hell of a lot of apologizing when we get back."

* * *

Tony groaned.

He had been doing that a lot lately.

"Shhh," A voice, somewhere. It was a man's voice. And an accent pervaded it. A sick sense of déjà vu washed over him, twisting the familiar cold, calculating part of him into place quickly, with an almost visible snap as his body shuddered. He was against leather, he could smell the sweet scent of armor all, and his nose was pressed against smooth fabric.

Definitely leather then.

Someone took care of the car. He could feel a snag against his bare skin as he shifted, face moving upwards and toward the front of the car. His vision was still swimming, and only the dull thrum of pain in his head convinced him that this wasn't some dream. Some vague memory that was going to slip away.

"What?" He was speaking English. According to popular report, if he wasn't lucid right now, he would be speaking in some foreign language he had never studied before in his life. The world was deciding that it wanted to settle now. He could see straight. There were small stripes in the fabric. Red and custom. He liked the leather. He didn't like the back of whoever was driving him. "Where…"

"Hospital," The foreign English voice grunted. Tony made a move to raise his head, his lips were dry and cracked. He shrugged his shoulder a bit, moving his hands to get a grip about the back seat of the car so he could lever himself up. Road signs flashed past his vision, dancing about in green and white metal that didn't make much sense other than that they were well away from any semblance of D.C. or Bethesda for that matter.

"No," Tony groaned. "Where ... we going?" His mind was kicking into high gear. Obviously he had been kidnapped, again. However, the last thing that he remembered doing was sitting down on a bench outside the main office, too tired to continue his trudge to a place where he could just lay down and sleep this… whatever it was off.

"I told you," The man hissed, turning his balding head toward the side ever so slightly. There was a few days growth that needed to be shaved off, and his cheek had stubble on it too. "We are going to the hospital." His voice was gaining familiarity each time that he spoke. He wasn't trying to hide it.

"Trent," Tony snarled, the gears clicking into place. The figure let out a chuckle. So that was it then. Tony snarled again, feral and deep. "Trent Kort. What... the hell?"

"You were the bright one, weren't you?" His gravely voice intoned, dry and accusing. Tony didn't like it. His eyes narrowed at the back of Trent's head. "I said that I was taking you to the hospital. I had to talk to you."

"Ziva... did Ziva...?" It was absurd, and as soon as Tony asked it, he wondered why the hell he had. His head was still throbbing, and his teeth felt like they were going to fall out of his head. His vision was starting to swirl again, mashing the colors together until Trent looked like he was swimming in oatmeal. Trent let out a small noise of disgust.

"Of course not," He turned back, looking down at the agent as they sat at a red light. Tony knew that it was red because when he looked past the CIA agent, he could see the flashing, annoying color, and his head hurt because of it. "I didn't put her up to anything. Your current predicament is because of your own stupidity." And those were probably the most words that Tony had heard come from his mouth in a long time.

"It wasn't stupidity," Tony whispered, to himeslf mostly. He wasn't paying much more attention to Trent than he had to. He still hated the man- didn't trust him at all. Everything went to hell in a hand basket when the man got involved. Tony was just hoping that he would wake up sooner rather than later, and then contemplate why he was dreaming of Trent of all people. "It was Gibbs." Trent made a noncommittal noise that Tony did not admit he heard.

"Well whatever reason you were fighting the Mossad woman, it was for the best," His voice rolled over the words, like crunching gravel. "It was so much easier to get your director to agree to allowing me to escort you to the hospital when Gibbs wasn't there, acting like a mother bear and her cubs." Tony couldn't help it, he grinned ever so slightly into the nice upholstery. Gibbs as a bear was probably one of the most accurate comparisons he had heard.

"Vance knows?" Tony commented, blithely. Oh great, no rescue from Gibbs anytime soon if Vance was allowing it to happen. With his luck, his boss wouldn't even know where he was until Kort had already disposed of his body.

"Of course Vance knows. Put together proper sentence, Neanderthal," Trent commented, turning the car swiftly. The bastard.

"Then why the hell do you want me here?" Why would Trent Kort, of all people, offer to take him to the hospital? It just didn't make sense, hence the whole feeling of doom and despair that was creeping over Tony like a disease.

"To talk," He was frustrated now. Even in his state of half-awareness, Tony could tell that he was getting frustrated. Maybe he should have picked a better time to talk. Some time when Tony's head wasn't about ready to explode or he wasn't about ready to paint the car's interior with a nice shade of pepto pink. "You are aware that your team is currently investigating a murder, correct?"

"Mhmmm," Tony mumbled. That was why he had been able to send Jimmy off. Also how Kort had managed to get to him. He definitely wouldn't have been able to pick Tony up if Gibbs had been the one to take him to the hospital.

"Well I am here to tell you a little bit about the murder."

That didn't sound like Kort. Tony frowned, flicking an eye up and making a noise for him to continue. Kort always demanded something. Kort never gave up information like that unless he was getting something in return. Green eyes narrowed, their depths almost jade as they stared at the back of his head.

"What do you want?" The first really, truly coherent sentence that came out of his mouth other than "It was Gibbs." His tone didn't hold room for much nonsense, and his calloused fists were gripping onto the leather chair as he levered himself up on ragdoll arms. "Why did you..."

An uncomfortable shifting filled the car. _He's embarrassed!_ Tony realized, shaking ever so slightly. Trent Kort. Trent Kort never was embarrassed. Never was this so far out of character.

"What I am going to tell you must remain between us," The driver mumbled, voice low and harsh. Tony gave a small nod of his head, locks of chocolate hair whispering against leather as they moved. Of course, he had no intention of keeping what Kort was going to tell him a secret. Karma was a bitch, and Kort was long overdue. "I came to you, DiNozzo, because you are the only one that can help me."

Tony couldn't help it. He laughed. It was slightly hysterical, and long and loud. It filled up the government issued car in a mocking manner.

"Okay, if you are Leia, that makes me Obi-wan, right?" He found it entirely amusing. Even if he hadn't been concussed, he would have found Trent Kort coming to him in a Star Wars type manner extremely amusing. He stopped his laughing, slowly, when he realized that Kort was being serious. "Why me?"

"Because you've done it before."

"Like hell I would help a slimy, no good son of a bi..."

_Trent was looking at him. Tony grinned, feral and angry. His lips were pulled back in a silent snarl that Tony from NCIS had never sported before. Strong arms crossed over a broad chest, and the ginger headed (he was red for this time) man observed the walls that they were in. He was whistling ever so slightly, but Kort was pacing back and forth. _

_"Stop pacing, you're giving me a headache," Tony murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. Kort shot him a withering glance. He settled down after a moment, stopping his pacing and pulling that cool back around him. Kort would do. Not now, of course, but he would do. He still had too much of that corpsman mentality in him. _

_"How can you be so calm?"_

_"I wasn't the one that screwed up the intel and got us captured. It's your head that's on the platter. Not mine." Tony smirked. He had disliked Kort from the beginning. But feelings aside, he would eventually make a competent individual. Not now. Now he was just hard to understand. He was generally calm, but had the oddest bouts of anger. He had even released it on Tony a few times in his short career._

_"Well how are we going to get out of here?" Tony sighed, shrugging his shoulders._

_"I'll find a way. I always do."_

_Tony never told Kort that they were supposed to be captured. But he really hadn't intended for the man to get shot. Maybe that was why they didn't like each other anymore. Hell, it wasn't Tony's fault. He had gotten them out of the mess and had saved Kort's life against the backdrop of an Afghani mountain._

"Afghanistan," Tony commented, monotone. Kort gave a small nod.

"I was wondering if you would remember."

"I don't," Tony closed his eyes. This one was sticking around longer. It had been shaken loose from somewhere in his mind and had fallen into his general consciousness. Possibly because Trent Kort was a part of the memory, sitting there and talking to him. Something tangible in a world that had all been fiction a few hours earlier. "Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

"No," Trent shook his head, swallowing pride in a gulp. Had Tony not been feeling shitty, he would have savored this moment. He hated the dirtbag. Hated him. And the feeling was mutual. "I came to tell you that if you don't solve this murder case. If you don't help me, I'm going to be next."

* * *

Okay, so sorry about this taking so long. I haven't had much time to get it off to my beta and up. Work's been a ball buster.


	4. Suma Cum Laude and Kick Ass Marines

**A/N:** Okay, here we go again. Well, some shiz happened with the family when I was supposed to get this up. Let's just say that we are down a car. :/

**Warnings: **Mentions of rape (not graphic at all, just in passing), language, and violence

**Thank you for your support, guys! I love you all!**

**Thank you very much Kyuubiluvr68! Awesomest beata in the entire world. **_**Seven Nation Army**_

* * *

_**by Tokio Rose**_

_"Chapter 3: Suma Cum Laude and Kick Ass Marines "_

_"I came to tell you that if you don't solve this murder case. If you don't help me, I'm going to be next."_

Tony was silent for barely a moment, contemplating. His lip stuck out unconsciously. His fists balled against the seat. And he levered himself up completely so he was resting in the corner of the car, wedged between child-locked doors and expensive leather interior.

"What do you mean?" Green eyes narrowed slightly, looking past the head of the maniac kidnapper who was taking him to the hospital. "Biiiiiggg bad CIA agent scared?" It had been quite obvious that Kort hadn't needed his help when dealing with La Grenouille, else he could have left Tony well enough alone. No, Kort hadn't needed help, he just used their help as a way to better himself, to gain him more connections, or in some cases, just to piss them off even more.

Kort let out a small, frustrated sigh. The sigh was something, at least. It wasn't the first time that Tony had gotten him off kilter. In fact, the NCIS agent had a feeling that he had gotten Kort off kilter many times in the past. Not even counting the whole Jean and La Grenouille mess. A familiarity washed around him in eddies. He had never been this familiar with Kort. It brought a whole new level of dislike to his relationship with the man.

"You generally bring bad, um," his mind slipped for a moment, "_things_ into my life. Leave me the hell alone?" After that last lapse down Memory Lane, Tony felt more agitated. His tone had a sharp edge laced in it, testy. And his head hurt, dammit. It hurt a lot. And Kort babbling on like this wasn't helping matters any. He couldn't stand the man when he was being an ass. He could stand him even less when he was acting remotely human because it meant that Tony had to deal with him. That Tony needed to treat him as he would any other person that asked for help.

_But damn the bastard knew him. _

"Because right now your team is investigating a murder case," Kort stated. "And I know about the murderer."

"Then you should have told Gibbs... not kidnap the invalid."

"I don't trust Gibbs," Kort muttered, eyes scanning the intersection, pulling forward.

"You trust me?" His baritone dripped with sarcasm. His eyes were narrowed to slits, staring at the back of Kort's head. "And we were... hating each other so well."

"I think that I liked you better when you were passed out." Kort commented, voice harsh. Tony could feel the urge to hit and punch practically rolling off the man. His anger was going to get the better of him. Tony just knew. "But yes, I do trust you more than I trust Gibbs. I trust you because I know you."

"You don't know shit about me**."** Kort let out a barking laugh, mirthless, and the smirk reflected back from the windshield. His eyes held a spark of smugness Tony associated with him, and the ass-that-was-easier-to-deal-with was back, looking down at his fancy little sports car steering wheel.

"I know more about you than you think. I probably know more about you than you know about yourself about now**."** Tony huffed, rolling his aching head against the cool glass. His hair stuck, reminding him of the winter that was slowly edging toward them with cool fingers.

"Don't doubt it..." Kort made a noise of agreement**.** "So what do you need my help with?" What had made the great Trent Kort this desperate? The man shook his head, balding skin flashing a bit in the light.

"This conversation really isn't going to get me anywhere, is it?" Chagrined, annoyed. Tony could still pick up on the conversation, even though he was half conscious. He focused on the annoyed tone of his voice, the way that Kort's back was tight and his jaw was clenched. Tony knew that he wasn't of the best mind right now, and Kort knew it too.

"Probably not," Tony agreed with an easy, almost dangerous grin. "Our conversations really haven't gotten us anywhere in the past since you_ blew up my car_!" He pinched the bridge of his nose, systematically attempting to dredge together some semblance of thought, pushing aside the pain for a moment. He gave a small nod to Kort.

"Do you recognize her?" Tony blinked, looking at the picture that Kort passed back to him. Her lips were full, pulled back in an easy smile. Laugh lines framed her lips, bracketing glossed slicked lips and white teeth. Her brown hair was wavy, pulled back into a side ponytail. She had on boxing gloves, raised in the air. Sweat slicked her skin. She was pretty. Very pretty. But that didn't mean anything. It was her eyes that drew Tony. They were a deep shade of mocha, happy and warm.

"No," Tony frowned. But he should. He stated as much.

"You should," Kort agreed. "Her name is Mellissa Sandoval. She was a Corporal in the United States Marine Corps." Tony gave a small snort. Well what did that have to do anything? "More importantly than that, she was a member of the CIA, Clandestine Services."

Why was Kort telling him THIS of all things.

"She was a friend of yours."

_She was smiling at him. Tony huffed, sitting down on the floor. The nineteen year old offered him a hand, hoisting him up. Boxing gloves tapped his head, pink leather smarting in his vision. He grinned at her, rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead. She spit out her mouth guard, which he did in return._

_"Beat your ass," She grinned, doing a small dance, boxing shorts swishing. "Finally."_

_Tony smirked._

_"Of course you did," Tony groaned, resting his arms against the ropes. He crossed his legs before him, feet __tapping on__ the mat and letting the older girl relish her victory. It wasn't every day that someone managed to beat him. _

_"You let met win, Chief?" Her arm snaked forward, and he lifted his hand, blocking the good-natured punch directed at his ears. He grinned._

_"Maybe," She groaned, taking off the gloves and tying them together. "You would let me get my hopes up. You think that I'll ever be able to beat you?"_

_Tony shook his head, soft brown locks brushing his forehead. The easy care-free grin on his face was real. It held a note of happiness, contentment. Belonging._

_"Naw. You might be older than I am, Mellissa, but I still can kick your ass any day, any time. Maybe you'll be able to beat me when we're old and gray and everything has finally caught up. But that ain't gonna be any time soon." Her brown eyes narrowed, staring at him. _

_"I'll be sure to beat you before then," Tony stood, wiping his hands on his shorts, looking around the nondescript gym. He couldn't tell where he was at, wasn't able to see the name that was written on the wall, but he knew that he should be able to see. Mellissa's face was already starting to fade to black, replaced by a square jaw, stubbled features, sharp eyes..._

"Mellissa?" Tony whispered, reaching a hesitant hand forward. Kort released it without much question. His eyes scanned the quasi-familiar face, taking in features that were so familiar and not at the same time. She was a best friend yet a stranger at the same time. The youthful face didn't match up with the slightly haggard one, but the eyes were the same. So full of life and fight. "We were... friends?"

"Very good friends, if her file was correct," Kort informed, moving on like Tony hadn't just had a world shaking revelation. Tony's eyes narrowed.

"How did I know her, then?"

Kort shrugged.

"How the hell should I know?" Something wasn't adding up. The sense of snakeyness that Kort exuded was almost high enough that Tony half expected him to stick his tongue out and taste the air or some shit like that.

"Then what were you expecting to gain from me!?"

"You know a lot about her," Kort informed. "Or you should."

"And what does this have to do with you being killed?" Tony looked up. His gut lurched painfully.

"She's dead," Kort growled out. "And she was part of my team, the last one alive, but we can discuss it in greater detail when you are not about ready to puke all over the back of my car, right?" Kort hadn't wanted to talk with him. Dammit. Kort had just wanted to tease him, to make him WANT to see and know what Trent knew and saw. Kort was just laying the bait, and Tony was going to buy it- hook, line, and sinker. It wasn't that he was stupid. Far from it. However, Trent obviously had drawn a line, thick and full of memories between Mellissa and Tony that Tony couldn't just IGNORE.

Especially when he could remember bits and pieces of the woman who had been a member of Trent's "team."

"Right," Tony intoned, gruffly. Kort smirked, expertly maneuvering the car into the parking space.

"Good, now be a good lad, don't cause any trouble for me, all right?"

* * *

"Where the hell is DiNozzo!"

Those were the first words that echoed around the squad room. Several agents looked up from what they were doing, casting furtive glances toward each other and typing an instant message to their buddy across the room before exiting out. Gibbs was in a mood. Not only had he been called to a possible rape case, but also, one of his agents was missing, assumingly disappeared into thin air.

"Abby has not seen him," Ziva stated.

"Neither has anyone else for that matter," McGee quipped, looking up from his computer. Gibbs had him running a background check on the murdered Marine; however, that didn't mean that Gibbs didn't expect McGee to do his own share in trying to find the missing agent. However, McGee was of the opinion that he would probably feel worse for the person that managed to get DiNozzo when he was in the mood that he had been. The man winced. After what he had done to Ziva, McGee had no illusions that DiNozzo could not take care of himself.

Gibbs let out a frustrated sigh. Times like this made him wish that he had a GPS device ingrained in Tony's skin. The man had gotten kidnapped, lost, and or beaten and left for dead on more occasions that Gibbs would care to admit. While he wasn't one for hi-tech gadgetry and invading Tony's personal life, a tracking device was probably going to be sneakily attached to Tony's next Christmas gift from every person on the team if Gibbs had anything to say about it.

"What about his cell?"

"It's off," Ziva stated, holding up her own as proof. Gibbs let out a growl of frustration, sitting down at his own desk and taking a compulsive sip of coffee.

"Check his phone records. I want to know the last time that he called and when he made the call..."

"That won't be necessary," Gibbs turned for a moment. Vance stood, resting his arms against the railing above them. His lips were pursed, unhappy. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he seemed displeased about all sorts of things. His eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Agent DiNozzo was taken to the hospital a few hours ago. He should be arriving now."

"What the hell sort of hospital is that far away?" Gibbs hissed, returning the frown. "It shouldn't take him that long to get to any hospital that is worth its salt."

"He was taken by a special agent. It wasn't my orders."

The scowl on Gibbs' face deepened. Since when had Tony DiNozzo warranted the attention of anyone that could order Leon Vance around? He could count on his hands the times that Tony had been on a mission that required the higher ups go ahead. And all those times, they hadn't ended well for Tony or anyone else.

"Let me guess, you can't tell us?" Vance stuck a toothpick in his mouth, swishing it back and forth, the frown melting away into a thoughtful glance.

"Professionally? No. But on a more friendlier level, I can say that it was someone that we have worked with before. I believe he was quite adamant on a certain case involving the late Director Sheppard and a certain French arms dealer."

"Kort," Gibbs hissed. Vance hummed in agreement.

"He said that Tony had some vital information on a top level homeland security fiasco. But you know as well as I do that it could simply be smoke and mirrors. Trent Kort has not exactly been forthcoming in the past." Of course he hadn't. He was like a pet snake. Nice in principle, but when you went to play with him, he bit. "But he came with his orders from SECNAV. Whatever is going on, he has pulled some major strings to make it work."

Vance stopped his chewing on the wood between his teeth for a moment.

"It worries me," He admitted after a moment, which left most of the people within earshot flabbergasted. "DiNozzo is nothing special." This was a hotly debated point, always had been. Vance was for the McGees of this world. Gibbs was for the Tonys. They had always disagreed, and probably always would. But Gibbs had to agree that DiNozzo might have been a damn good agent, but he wasn't special enough to warrant the attention of the CIA and SECNAV at the same time. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark. Vance shrugged. "Don't you have a murder you are supposed to be investigating?"

Gibbs took it as a dismissal.

"I do not like this," Ziva stated. "Kort is not known for his trustworthiness. I for one think that we should..."

"There is nothing that we can do right now, Ziva," Gibbs hated to say that because there was ALWAYS something that they could do. "We have a homicide on our hands right now." But they all knew that they would rather be going down to see if Tony was all right. "McGee, status?"

"Uhh, right," The man fumbled around for a bit, clicking a few buttons on his computer as a picture popped up on the screen. "Mellissa Ann Sandoval, born nineteen seventy, umm, uhh, graduated Suma Cum Laude from Yale with a degree in microbiology," McGee sounded impressed, which Gibbs guessed was hard to do. "She was a member of the First Reconnaissance Battalion, part of the..."

"First Marine Battalion," Gibbs grunted. "I know, pick up the pace."

"Uhh, she was scheduled for honorable discharge in December of 2009. She had been transferred over from one of the other military divisions..."

"What one, McGee?" The man seemed embarrassed.

"I... well, there doesn't seem to be any trace of the records on file. It just says that she was transferred from a special ops program. Doesn't give much else besides that," Gibbs shot him a look. "But I will look into it right away, Boss."

"You think?" Gibbs cocked a brow, looking at the serious picture on the screen. A twinkle still shone in her eyes, even though her lips were set in a hard line and her hair was pulled back into a serious bun. "What else?"

"Uhh, her file said that she was quiet. She really didn't have many friends in the battalion, but that's understandable, you know..."

"Today, McGee**."** Tony was gone, that left everyone a bit off kilter. They were worried, showing it in their own ways. Ziva had been silently working in her desk, looking up every so often, but her face was pinched and drawn. Though Gibbs wasn't certain if it was because she was worried about Tony, or she was worried about the answers that she would never get from Tony if he didn't come back in one piece.

"Well, she was an expert in hand to hand combat. She specialized in a form of martial arts known as She Quan, which actually, funny enough, is a type of martial arts used in this video game you know..." Gibbs gave a warning glare. "Okay, well anyways, combat sambo, Krav Maga," Ziva's ears perked at this.

"Israeli martial arts?" She looked at the person on the screen, a new sort of appreciation showing in her eyes. If the woman were alive, most definitely, they would have been friends.

"That's not even all of it," McGee flipped the remote so that is scrolled through a list. Not long, but it was a list, long enough to be more than four. "She knows various forms of martial arts. Also, her file says that she was fluent it about ten different languages. Get this, most of them were languages of countries that are under heavy surveillance from the U.S."

"Looks like we have found ourselves a sleeper," Ziva stated. "At least, that is what it appears to me," She studied the pictures. "Does she have any family?"

"Nope," Tim stated, looked at the computer and flipping to the next screen. "Service records say that her mother died when she was sixteen. Her father has never been in the picture. Only child. Grandparents immigrated here from Spain. Actually, even when her mother was alive, she spent most of her years in Rhode Island Military Academy..." His voice trailed off. Ziva perked.

"What's wrong?"

"Well isn't Rhode Island Military Academy where..."

"Yeah, that's where DiNozzo went," Gibbs grunted, looking at the woman in a new light. She had probably been there when Tony was. Might have even known him. She was the type of girl that DiNozzo would fall in with. Smart, fun if her smile was anything to go by.

"Quite a coincidence," Ziva stated, knowing what would come next.

"I told you that I don't believe in coincidences, Ziva."

"Do you think that this similarity is what drew Kort to Tony in the first place," Gibbs nodded, once, swiftly, picking up his ringing phone with the other hand. He flipped it open, looking at Ziva.

"I sure as hell don't think that Kort was taking Tony to the hospital out of the goodness of his heart if that is what you are asking, Gibbs," He stated as soon as he was done with the explanation to Ziva who gave him a thoughtful look and brought up a few pages on her screen. "Yeah, mhmm, yeah. I'll be down there in a minute. Abby's got a hit." He snapped the phone closed.

"On what?" Ziva called as Gibbs began his rapid exit from the room.

"The tattoo," He called over his shoulder.

* * *

Black finger nails scraped along the metal table. Black pigtails were practically drooping with the lack of enthusiasm that the wearer normally exuded. Booted feet swung back and forth, tartan mini skirt clinking with the multiple belts slung about her hips. Black lips pursed, playing absently with the cuff of her white lab coat.

Abby was down. It wasn't because she hadn't gotten as many jobs as she would have liked to. It wasn't because she had seen such a beautiful piece of body art destroyed by some cave man that didn't know the price or pain that such a tattoo involved. No, it was because TONY was missing, and no matter how many times she was told not to worry, she couldn't help but do just that.

Poor Tony disappeared more often than she was comfortable with. In fact, if she had her own way, she would have chained him to her desk a long time ago, not allowing him to go anywhere until she left, and even then, they might be conjoined at the hip.

Okay, so bathroom breaks might be awkward then, but she could deal if Tony was fine.

"Whatcha got for me, Abs?" She looked up, letting out a small sniff and taking the caff pow from Gibbs yielding hands.

"You found him yet?" She asked, first and foremost.

"Yeah, he's on his way to the hospital as we speak," Before she could question, Gibbs held up a hand. "A training accident. They happen all the time. It's a long story, and we really don't have time for it..." She huffed, taking a sip of the drink and staring back at him.

"Tell me he's going to be fine, Gibbs," she stated, green eyes luminous with the desire to hear that her Tony was going to be fine. Gibbs tossed an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

"He'll be fine," Gibbs stated, sure, deep down, that he would be. Abby let out a small huff, not a sniff, and turned toward the computer, motioning Gibbs over with a wave of her fishnet gloved hands.

"Okay," her jaw was set, and she stared at the computer, then back at Gibbs, then back at the computer again. If Gibbs said that Tony was going to be fine, then Tony was going to be fine. "I analyzed the blood that you took from the crime scene," Her thumb flicked through a few buttons, "and it doesn't come from just Corporal Sandoval," Five windows came up. "It, in fact, belongs to five other people."

"Five other victims?" Gibbs breathed.

"Well, no," She clicked another button, looking over at Gibbs with a faint glow of pride in her eyes. It was a marvel how she could bounce back. More importantly, it was a marvel that she cared enough about the team to be so down when one of them was missing.

"Abbs?" he grunted. Not angry, just busy.

"Well, you see, I did a DNA analysis of the other four blood types," a few faces popped up, one of which Gibbs recognized instantly. "I must admit that it is very _The Dark Knight_, what with the Joker and all," Gibbs made a face. "Right, not into movies. Okay, it was this major block buster hit and, you... really don't care. Moving on, anyways, in the movie," Tony would appreciate this, "in the movie, the Joker uses the DNA of several people to mark them as his next victims."

"So you are saying," Gibbs pointed to the screen, "That Trent Kort is going to be one of the next victims?" Korts face glared back at them, next to a picture of a woman. The other two were unidentified. And the woman who they could identify was currently serving on tour in Iraq.

"My guess is? Yes. Corporal Sandoval's blood was already mixed into the whole mess," She grimaced. "Nothing like a bad guy ripping his ideas off of movies."

"I'm sure that it's been done before," Gibbs' voice dipped a bit lower, looking at the two other blank faces on the screen. Two other people that they had no way to protect. No way to warn. No way to know. "This is just another sick bastard trying to send a message."

"Yeah, well, he certainly sent it by mauling her tattoo," Abby brought up the picture, staring at it oddly. "Beautiful piece of work Gibbs. Must have taken hours to sit for. Damn, and painful, look at the intricacies of the hilt," her eyes lit and she stared at it for a moment longer. "Well, I found the artists. He works out of the Seattle area. His name is Milo Vogel," She shrugged with the look. "He specializes in pieces like this. I matched it with the same sort of sword work, which he is apparently known for. I called him and asked him about it, and he was pretty tight lipped. My guess is that it has something to do with a gang, maybe."

"Do you know what was on the rest of it?"

"He didn't say, but he did send me a picture of one similar. Check it out," It was a man's back, strong and hard, and the lines of the sword fell down his spine flawlessly. Two wings, looking impossibly soft flew on either side, resting on his shoulder blades. "Hmm, symbolic, maybe? It was the only tattoo on the body, right?"

Gibbs gave a distracted nod.

"How can we find out what the words were on it?"

"Well my guess is that if it is a gang tattoo, someone else has one. Find the person with the tattoo, you find out what it said." Gibbs made a hum.

"Good work," She leaned over, and he placed a small peck on her cheek. "Find anyone that she might have had a connection with that would have that tattoo. The bastard took obvious steps to deface it. I want to know why."

"Yessir!" She gave a mock salute, turning back to her computer with a glare.

"Come on, baby, momma needs a new pair of bowling shoes."

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Whenever he asked these questions, he generally didn't want an answer. Ziva working on something all quiet like was bound to be something that was either a) illegal, b) bound to piss Gibbs off, or c) a combination. Ziva glared up from her computer, staring down McGee with hard brown eyes, lips pushed into a thin line. A decision was warring in her head. To let him in or keep him out. Tim waited, knowing that seeming too eager would shut him out before he even got a whiff of what was going on.

"Checking Tony's records," She stated, slowly.

"I thought that you already did that," Gibbs would be so pissed. They would be so dead. If he came back and found them going through Tony's dirty laundry when they were supposed to be interviewing people who knew the Corporal.

"Yes, well," She seemed annoyed. "I have to be missing something." The scene in the training room had been eating away at her since they had left Tony in the care of Ducky. There was just no way that Tony could have spoken like that, moved like that, ACTED like that if he hadn't had any proper training. It just didn't come naturally. Ziva herself had had to be trained for years before she was able to flip someone who had the upper hand, and while she had grown up with Arabic, it had certainly taken her much more to learn other languages. Much in the same way that it would have taken Tony much more effort to learn Arabic.

"They did a complete background check, complete with polygraph before he was even allowed to sit down at a desk," McGee frowned. "What could they have possibly been missing?"

"Documents can be falsified. You know this as well as I do."

"Yes, but do you really, HONESTLY think that NCIS wouldn't have caught it? That _I_ wouldn't have caught it?"

"HA!" She held her finger out, whispering fiercely and leaning over her desk. "So you checked his records as well!" McGee seemed flustered for a moment, obviously trying to come up with an answer before his shoulders slumped and he looked over at her, moodily.

"Of course I did. Tony pinned you like a butterfly to a cork board and said some pretty weird things to you in another language. I looked it up as soon as I got back," McGee's face crumpled. "Everything checks out. I checked for signs of tampering with the material, even ran a search on his family. Everything _checks_ out. And I've met Tony's friends. I know that he's not lying about college or anything like that." He moaned, frustrated. "And that's just it. Everything _checks out_. Tony shouldn't be speaking Arabic or fighting you, but he is. It doesn't make any sense."

"You see? This is why I am checking his records. It says fluent in Spanish and a bit of Italian," She read, looking down at his records. "Multiple injuries, the plague," She rolled her eyes and continued onwards. Not that she was making light of the situation, it was just like reading a dossier for a walking medical journal. "He seems to have lived a semi-normal life before he came to NCIS. Not top of his class, very good at sports. Everything that we would expect of DiNozzo."

"There any reason why you would expect anything else?"

Tim visibly jumped, and Ziva started, not much, but she had not been expecting the man to come through the door, new cup of coffee in hand and glaring at the both of them.

"Uhh, no Boss..."

"Then is there any reason why you are checking up on DiNozzo's dossier when you should be looking into Corporal Sandoval's murder?"

"Well, I was just trying to find a link between the too. Perhaps Tony knew her. Perhaps they went to school together." Gibbs snorted, looking over at the Mossad liaison and shaking his head.

"Which was probably exactly what Kort was thinking," Gibbs wasn't telling them everything. He was a bit quiet as he said the words, rubbing his jaw and taking a sip of his daily sludge. Sliding into his chair, he flicked on the computer, checking through the information the team had sent him, sifting through everything, determining what was relevant or not. He realized that the team was still looking at him. Ziva playing with her olive green sweater and McGee shifting from side to side, straightening his white collar. "What?"

"I mean, but don't you find it ODD that Tony's files are so perfect? That nothing's out of place, that his story checks out, despite what he did today?"

"No," Gibbs stated. Was it a lie? Perhaps. He wasn't quite ready to say that Tony wasn't Tony at all. That all these years together had been a lie. That his SIC, in fact, had been lying through his teeth the entire time, even though his gut was telling him that more was going on than met the eye. "What I find ODD is that I told you to drop it and you still are asking questions about it. We can ask DiNozzo when he comes back."

"If he comes back," McGee sighed, closing out of the window.

"Now I want you to tell me everything that there is..." He stopped, mid sentance, digging through his tan pants and pulling out his cell. Gibbs squinted down at the number, flipping it open with a rough "Gibbs," then a "yeah" and a "Yes, I am." Then "I'm on my way."

The phone snapped shut again. It sounded like a death sentence.

"That was Maryland General. Seems that our missing agent is all the way out in Baltimore. I'm going to go pick him up. I want something, anything from you, when you get back."

They both nodded as Gibbs disappeared, speedily, out of the room.

* * *

Wowwwww, done. XD Well, to tell you the truth, you might find this silly, but I am actually like... hearing them talk when they say things. Their inflections and everything. I wish that I could write sound into the stuff, but yeah. I've been trying to keep them IC as much as possible (there is going to be SOME OOCness for obvious reasons), so yeah.

Also, I beleive not uploading late at night might be in my future...

Review, and thank you guys for your paitience!


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